


Flowers from the Tempest

by leet911



Series: Flowers from the Tempest [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Druids, F/F, Keyasha, Not Canon Compliant, Spoilers, Yashleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leet911/pseuds/leet911
Summary: Maybe love requires something to be broken.  And so Keyleth keeps coming back to this field in Xhorhas, this quiet plain where the wildflowers bloom and a fallen aasimar plays haunting melodies on a bone harp.
Relationships: Keyleth/Yasha
Series: Flowers from the Tempest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078217
Comments: 29
Kudos: 125





	Flowers from the Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before the Rumblecusp arc, and before Yasha's wings changed from their original look. So this diverges from canon in that respect and also from meeting Viridian, but I like my story the way it is so I'm not going to retcon for the sake of staying canon compliant.

> “Maybe love is just muscle memory, a body next to a body, you only respond the way you learned the first time.”
> 
> Carrie Rudzinski - Jupiter

* * *

Keyleth has taken to exploring the world. It is easy for her, step through a tree and appear somewhere else in Exandria, then pick a direction and a mode of transport. There are no barriers to her. Elemental forms can become one with the wind, or the earth, or the waves. She can glide right through mountains, or swim the oceans, or even soar high above the clouds. Some days, when she feels the need to run, she uses her beast shape to feel the air lift her wings, or feel the grass underneath her belly.

So she’s flying over Xhorhas as an air elemental, dancing with the wind and trying not to think. Because she’s not supposed to be sad. It’s been so long. But one of Vex’s sons reminds her so much of Vax, sometimes Keyleth just wants to run off and be alone with her loss. So she’s here, halfway across the world where no one knows her name, and it’s the melancholy tune of a harp that calls to her.

She drifts lower in the air, sees a lone figure sitting atop a rock in a field full of wildflowers. It's a woman, pale skin and dark hair, strong of stature but dainty with her instrument. Mismatched eyes look out over the plain, and tears fall as the harp strings sing.

These are tears of grief, Keyleth knows. She cries them too sometimes, for no reason at all. So she conjures up a breeze, dries the tears with a gentle caress. Around them, there are little piles of flowers, picked from the field and arranged in a large circle around the rock. The breeze catches them too, and the colorful petals wave to both of them.

Keyleth stays for many minutes, watching this stranger cry, and listening to the mournful notes of the harp. When the song ends, it doesn't build or swell to a crescendo. It tapers off quietly, and Keyleth is surprised the music is just gone.

"I miss you, Zuala. I'm sorry." The words are whispered into the sky, not meant for any ears.

And Keyleth doesn't know who Zuala is, but maybe that doesn’t matter, because she feels for this stranger. She wraps her new acquaintance in an invisible hug, then flees with the wind, taking note of a nearby grove so she can return to this place.

* * *

The next time Keyleth sees the one who misses Zuala, it is weeks later. Keyleth is in her tiger form, and she watches the woman from the tall grass. It is dusk, and Keyleth does not know why she came back here. She only knows that she is lonely again, that she feels lonely a lot these days.

And she’s not sure if this is dumb luck, or a regular occurence, but that unnamed woman is here again, playing her bone harp. The notes are languid and pensive, slow and haunting. Keyleth circles closer in the fading daylight, drawn by the music, and she gets to within a few yards before the woman notices that a sabre-toothed tiger is near.

They both freeze, staring at each other. Then in one fluid motion, the harp is dropped, the aasimar is on her feet, and a greatsword is drawn. This woman has a warrior’s instinct.

Keyleth does not move, only blinks her green eyes and flares her feline nostrils.

"You're not a regular tiger are you?"

Keyleth yawns, showing her long fangs. She lays down in the grass and motions towards the harp with a paw.

As if the warrior understands, she picks up her harp once more, though she leaves the sword within easy reach. She continues the song from before, full of longing and loss. Keyleth admires in silence. She dreams of friendship and adventure, of past loves and the inexorable march of time.

When the last rays of the sun dip below the horizon, the music comes to a graceful end. Keyleth snorts, pads closer to the harpist. And though the aasimar tenses, she allows the tiger to step close, rub the soft white fur against her leg. Almost by reflex, a hand reaches out to pet the stripes, and Keyleth purrs for her new friend.

She thinks about changing forms, showing her true self, but decides against it. Better that this warrior believe the tiger is a spirit of nature, protector of this plain. Better that Keyleth feel the music as Minxie, and not be able to cry real tears. Better to share in this grief together without words. This warrior has lost someone ( _Zuala!_ ), and though Keyleth does not know how or why, the sadness is just as real. The music is proof enough.

So they sit for a long time in the dark, aasimar and tiger, watching the stars come out above Xhorhas. As the night grows colder, the woman curls closer to the tiger, her bare arms grateful for the warmth of the fur. Keyleth basks in the embrace. And she thinks for a moment, that she doesn’t know who this really is, this fallen aasimar playing a harp fashioned from bones, but anyone who builds flower shrines to the departed can’t be that bad, right?

“You’re so warm,” the woman says suddenly, patting the tiger’s belly and drawing Keyleth out of her thoughts. "Do you have a name?"

Keyleth doesn’t answer of course, just nestles closer.

There is a long pause, and the next question is hopeful and filled with awe. “Zuala?”

The tiger stands, draws up to its full height and looks straight into the woman’s mismatched eyes. Keyleth doesn’t have the heart to lie. She shakes her head.

There is a combination of dismay and relief that washes over the aasimar’s face, but she steels herself just as quickly. Somehow, Keyleth knows this warrior never expects her wishes to come true. She cranes her neck and bumps her head against the woman’s leg, purring once more. Despite the large fangs, there is no fear from the aasimar now, as she reaches out to scratch underneath the tiger’s neck.

"My name is Yasha.” Yasha crouches then, removes the flower necklace she’s wearing and places it atop the tiger’s much larger head. “Thank you for staying with me anyway.”

Keyleth watches Yasha gather up her things and wander off into the night. And she would never admit it, but the duality of strength and vulnerability reminds her of herself. Yasha carries a gigantic blade and delicate harp, she is muscular arms and shoulders limp with grief. Keyleth hopes that Yasha has friends like her own.

With a roar, Keyleth too is gone, bounding across the land towards home.

* * *

The next time Keyleth visits Xhorhas, she once again finds herself drawn to the same spot, but there is only an empty field. She prowls the area as Minxie, wandering back and forth across the plain. She waits for many hours, shaping the plants and flowers to while away the time. When the sun sets, this is the most beautiful plot of land on Exandria, filled with a dizzying assortment of flowers. With the help of Keyleth’s magic, the field is filled with small creatures chasing each other among the foliage. Colourful petals shimmer throughout, and as the sun dips below the horizon, pockets of fireflies dance in the open.

Keyleth waits far into the night, but her friend does not show. Perhaps she just passes through, and does not live nearby as Keyleth suspects. Perhaps this is not a place of significance, and it was only random chance that their paths crossed before.

When the stars appear, Keyleth has added another layer to her masterpiece, an assortment of night blooms, such that the field is a perpetual riot of life and colour. And even though she is alone, for the first time in a long time, she feels at peace. She feels like an artist tonight, admiring her own handiwork. And she hopes Yasha will see this too.

In a rare moment of pride, Keyleth places a mark on a nearby rock, almost like a signature. She shapes the stone to have a crown topped with antlers, a small symbol of herself. Because even though she wields magic of awesome power, sometimes it’s nice to do something for herself, without any of the burdens of leadership.

She breathes in the smells of nighttime, of summer and flowers and moonlight. Gingerly, she touches the flower necklace that she’s kept around her own neck. Her magic can breathe freshness into these flowers as long as she wants. And maybe it’s too sentimental to hold onto this, but Keyleth kind of likes this shared secret.

With a leap, she turns into an owl mid-air, and beats her wings to fly in a wide arc overhead. After a few lazy passes, Keyleth heads to the copse of trees and her gateway home.

* * *

Keyleth visits many more times that summer. Each time, she appears as Minxie, because that’s how they know each other.

When Yasha is not there, Keyleth adds to her work, encouraging the flowers to bloom and extending her influence further. And each time, she grows the stone antlers a little, so that they are a bit taller, a bit more ornate.

She also uses her magic to commune with nature and speak with the plants. She learns then, that the fallen aasimar is local, and visits semi-regularly. She learns that her friend is sad, and grieving, and that she collects flowers. And Keyleth thinks about scrying sometimes (even when she’s home), but that feels too much like spying, so she just keeps coming back instead.

Sometimes, their paths cross, and they spend an afternoon laying together in the field. Minxie doesn’t speak, but Yasha grows comfortable talking to the tiger. She talks about her friends, about Nott and Caleb, about Jester and Beau, about Fjord and Caduceus, and someone named Molly. Keyleth feels like she knows them. Yasha talks about the Storm Lord too, and also a dark time in her life. She talks about Obann, and demons, and cults. She talks about her tribe and her past, out here in Xhorhas. She talks about Zuala, and how she misses her, and that she has a book filled with flowers she can’t stop adding to. She points out that this field is particularly lush this year, that the flowers are out in force, and that she’s filled more pages this summer than all the years before.

Keyleth listens to all of it, and gives comfort any way she can. She nuzzles with Yasha, chases her around the field, even play fights with her sometimes. There are days when Yasha leans against the tiger’s chest and strums the strings of her harp. There are nights where they lie in the grass beneath the twin moons of Exandria and Yasha counts the stars out loud.

On those nights, Keyleth often wants to say something, show herself, be a real friend. But Yasha seems content, and peaceful, and Keyleth doesn’t want to ruin that. So she tells herself that next time she’ll be honest. Next time, she won’t be Minxie. She will be Keyleth of the Air Ashari, Voice of the Tempest, and they will stop pretending.

But when Yasha gets up to leave, there is a pat on the head and beaming smile for the tiger; Keyleth feels her heart swell, and the next time still she lies.

* * *

On the last day of summer, Keyleth is in Whitestone and Percy sees right through her. He knows that she has a _project_ now. Although he also says that she seems happier these days, and more carefree, and those are good things. He has plenty of projects too, and he trusts her judgement much more than he trusts his own.

So when Keyleth leaves the castle that day, she doesn’t return to Zephrah. She steps though the Sun Tree to Xhorhas, and the sound of a harp is on the wind.

She finds Yasha in the middle of their field, looking skywards and plucking her harp absently. When she notices the tiger, the aasimar wraps it into a big hug, and Keyleth feels tears against her neck.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yasha whispers. Keyleth sits next to her.

There is a book open on the ground, dried flowers pressed between the pages. Keyleth has never seen this book before, only heard of it, but she knows these are the flowers for Zuala. Yasha is crying as she flips the pages, stopping every now and then to tell a story about where a particular flower is from. These are not stories about Zuala. These are stories about Yasha’s grief.

Keyleth lays her head on Yasha’s lap, cries her own tears even though tigers aren’t supposed to, but Yasha doesn’t know about that.

“Tomorrow is Zuala’s birthday, and I don’t even know where she’s buried.”

Keyleth stays with Yasha that night, until the aasimar falls into a fitful slumber with a white tiger watching over her.

* * *

The next morning, it is the rain that wakes Keyleth.

Yasha is up, standing in the field, face turned skywards, eyes closed but arms splayed wide, as if to embrace the storm. She screams her rage, pure and molten and defiant, and the rain keeps falling.

Keyleth knows rage, even if she doesn’t feel it quite the same way. She’s seen Grog invoke it countless times, felt the power surge through their group as he charged ahead. And this is the same, despite there being no enemies around. Yasha is railing against injustice, and loss, and too gentle rain. Keyleth understands then, that Yasha rages not against the storm, but against its weakness. This warrior battles her own inner turmoil, and she needs the world itself to acknowledge it.

So Keyleth brings the storm. Her magic gathers the clouds overhead into a huge swirling mass. The rain intensifies, and lightning arcs all around them.

Yasha screams once more, but this time it is release, as skeletal black wings sprout from her back and unfurl, drawing ghostly patterns in the rain. A blast of energy emanates from her, slamming into Keyleth and dispelling her animal form.

The druid finds herself crouching in the mud, hair and clothes drenched from the downpour. But the aasimar does not notice the figure behind her, she only falls to her knees, and cries, shoulders and wings slumped in the storm, shaking with sobs.

Keyleth transforms into a bird and steals away in the rain. She does not know if she helped.

* * *

Keyleth returns the next day, out of both curiosity and obligation. She just wants to see how Yasha is doing. So it’s Minxie who finds the barbarian, once again picking flowers from the field. Yasha waves to the tiger, pets her as the beast nears.

“Hello there. You missed a big storm yesterday. I hope you had somewhere dry to stay.” Yasha seems fine.

Keyleth thinks of doing the same thing as always, staying silent and playing the part of the beast. But after yesterday, this feels too much like lying. So Keyleth decides to be brave this time. She drops the animal disguise, assumes her true form, and stands before Yasha. It’s the same green eyes, only on a half-elf instead of a tiger. The cloak she wears starts out the same shade of green at her shoulders, but spreads into an array of autumn colours. Over her mantle though, still sits the flower necklace from all those months ago.

The shock is apparent, Yasha’s eyes wide in disbelief. But it’s the circlet that brings her back, the signature that Keyleth left behind. Yasha points to the rock where the antlers grow. “You! That’s you. You did all this.” She gestures to the field around them, a canvas full of flowers and colours.

Keyleth can only nod shyly.

“Who are you?”

“I'm the Voice of the Tempest, but you can call me Keyleth.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Yasha. “Yesterday, the storm…”

“That was me.”

“Why?”

Keyleth doesn’t know why. Because Yasha feels like a kindred spirit maybe. Because she misses Vax, and she doesn’t see her friends quite often enough anymore. Because she can’t bear to see another person as sad as she feels sometimes. “You seemed sad.”

Yasha steps closer, wraps her in a crushing hug, and cries freely. And this feels natural, because they are not strangers. Keyleth’s seen Yasha vulnerable and heard all her dreams. Keyleth cries too, because there is so much emotion built up from the past months, all those times she wanted to say something but couldn’t. All those times she wanted to be a person instead of a tiger, be a real friend, give a real hug. And it's not fair what they have, because Keyleth knows all of Yasha's secrets, but she's never shared any of her own.

Without thinking, Keyleth kisses her, slow and gentle. Practiced, as if they’ve done this all their lives. She misses this contact, this connection with another person. With Yasha, she feels like they always had this, she just couldn’t show it before. Or maybe she was just too scared to do so.

When Yasha moans, the sound pulls Keyleth back to reality, and she finds herself apologizing. “Gods, I’m so sorry. I…”

Yasha doesn’t let her finish though, pulls her in and kisses her again. “Tell me about yourself,” she says.

So Keyleth does.

* * *


End file.
